


Sinful Fixations

by INMH



Series: Merry Month of Masturbation Fills (2019) [8]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: (...well...), Drama, F/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, One-Sided Attraction, Pining, Romance, Sexual Content, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 18:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18393629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/INMH/pseuds/INMH
Summary: Mary May’s sure done worse.





	Sinful Fixations

Mary May could do worse.  
  
She _had_ done worse: Her first kiss had been with some drunk-as-fuck cowboy out behind the Spread Eagle; her daddy had suspected that some funny business had gone down, and that cowboy had mysteriously never made his way into the bar again.  
  
Mary May wondered what her father would have thought if he’d known she was sweet on a priest.  
  
Well, alright, so Jerome was a Pastor, not a Priest- there were some sort of differences in there, Mary May was hardly a theologian and honestly didn’t give a shit- but she figured the differences were thin and far and few between where it mattered. Like, for instance, the whole ‘are you allowed to fuck your parishioners’ thing: She suspected that for both Priests and Pastors it was a hard _no._  
  
(She’d thought about asking Jerome directly, but Mary May wasn’t one to tip her hand like that.)  
  
It hadn’t started this way. Mary May didn’t just have some sort of unholy fetish for men of the cloth, and when she first became Aware of Jerome as a pre-teen (he’d always lived in Hope County, but had spent some years in the army and was therefore absent for much of her childhood) he had not struck her as especially interesting or attractive. No, when Jerome first appeared on her radar he had simply been another adult in the community whose presence was most keenly noticed at church, especially once he’d actually become the Pastor.  
  
Jerome drank with a moderation that would have made Jesus proud, and so when he came to the Spread Eagle it was usually to socialize. It was why people liked him, why people connected with him as more than just the guy who listened to them confessing their sins every Sunday: He involved himself in the community and did not, like some religious figures, see himself as above them. That was how Mary May had gotten to know him, waitressing and bartending as a teenager (younger than was strictly legal, but thankfully Whitehorse didn’t give a shit) and then as an owner when she was older and her daddy was gone.  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jerome had said, covering her hand in his own and squeezing it gently. “But your father would be proud of you for taking over the bar. I’m sure he’s watching now, overjoyed to see you take charge.”  
  
Mary May was hypersensitive, and people had said as much as that to her at the funeral; it had rubbed her raw, pissed her off because she was in a bad place and didn’t want to hear flowery assurances about heaven with her father’s body in a box nearby. But Jerome was a difficult man to be irritated with, mostly because everything he said sounded so sincere, so lacking in pretention.  
  
It had probably been out of sensitivity for her father’s loss that Jerome had waited to started confiding in her about Eden’s Gate.  
  
That had been the start of an alliance between them and against Eden’s Gate. Of the people in the Holland Valley, Jerome and Mary May were two of the best-recognized and best-connected; Nick Rye was a close third, and he and his wife Kim were eventually brought into the fold as well. Eden’s Gate was closing in: They were buying up land and kicking off the owners if they didn’t play ball, they were dumping strange things into the waterways of the county, they were guarding their facilities with the aggressiveness of a military outfit, and there were rumors that certain disappeared persons around the county had been in conflict with Eden’s Gate beforehand.  
  
Whitehorse, for all his attempts to combat it, seemed to be slipping into some level of despair. Joseph Seed knew how to play the game and play it well, and John Seed being a lawyer was certainly a tick in his favor. More than once Mary May had served Deputies Hudson and Pratt, sullen and irritable after a run-in with the cultists; Pratt, by far more loose-lipped than Hudson, had admitted on multiple occasions that they _knew_ the bastards were up to something but lacked the evidence to bring them in. “And you know that fucking asshole motherfucker John will sue us all to hell and back for religious discrimination if we don’t have it,” He’d growled, half in the bag and slumped against the bar. Hudson had dragged him out and driven him home, and Mary May had picked up the tab for them on that particular occasion because _fuck_.  
  
“If the authorities can’t do it,” Jerome had said, “Then we’ll have to do what we can.”  
  
They’d raised money for legal defenses, for people who were having their property ninja’d out from beneath them. They’d kept track of Eden’s Gate’s movements and tried to figure out what they were up to. They’d done their best to coordinate with the Whitetail Militia up north, though the group was largely tight-lipped and wary of collaboration. And the arms race- Christ, the amount of weapons Mary May had squirreled away would make her frontiersman ancestors proud.  
  
As time went on and the cult’s antics ramped up, especially with the Spread Eagle in such close proximity of the church, Mary May found herself in closer contact with Jerome. They’d spent plenty of nights in the Spread Eagle after hours working out the logistics of their plans, networking with others in the county and trying to build up a worthwhile resistance to the cult. They got too little sleep and it always seemed to be a one-step-forward-two-steps-back situation, but in time Jerome had become a particularly familiar and welcome fixture in Mary May’s life.  
  
And then the dream had happened.  
  
It was a chicken and egg situation: Had the dream started it, or had she maybe been feeling some things beforehand that had led to the dream? Hard to say, and ultimately it didn’t matter because the end result was Mary May realizing that she wanted to jump Jerome’s bones. The dream itself was straightforward: Mary May had been fucking Jerome. Nothing more complicated than that. Just a few minutes (of dream-time, anyway) of Mary May, apropos of nothing, fucking Jerome in a confused haze of ‘is this actually happening’ and ‘what the fuck?’  
  
‘What the fuck’ was a good response to dreaming about fucking a friend.  
  
What was telling was that once she’d had a chance to think about it, once she had a chance to reflect, Mary May hadn’t been bothered by the dream at all.  
  
Far from it.  
  
“Fuck,” Mary May whispered, grinding her fingers against her clit and pressing her face into her pillow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m going to hell.”  
  
She’d kinda figured she was going to hell anyway; this just sealed the deal.  
  
There had been a shift after that- hard for there not to be when one masturbated to a wet-dream that featured a friend. Whereas before Mary May had viewed Jerome as a sort of coworker and friend, now there was the capital-I Interest that came with sexual attraction. _How did I not notice before?_ She considered idly, watching as Jerome helped one of the parishioners load some stuff into the back of her truck; he was wearing street-clothes today, a t-shirt and jeans he didn’t mind getting roughed up, and it did a lot more for his body than the usual black Pastor’s get-up.  
  
“Want a drink, Jerome?” Mary May had offered mildly once the parishioner had driven off.  
  
“Ah, I don’t know if I should be drinking this early in the day,” Jerome chuckled. “In fact, I should probably go home and change. I’ll see you soon, Mary.”  
  
Mary pouted a little once he’d left. _What are you even hoping for?_ She wondered to herself. _Just because you’re interested doesn’t mean he’ll be. He’s a Pastor, for Christ’s sake: When have you ever seen him be anything more than friendly with anyone, never mind **you?**_  
  
The answer- at least, the one from the years Jerome had actually been on her radar- was that she had _never_ seen Jerome express interest in anyone or anything romantically before. If he’d ever dated anyone, they were years out from it. So Mary May kept the dog on the leash, so to speak. She didn’t flirt (much) and kept her interactions with Jerome in the same friendly vein they’d always been. It was a bad match, really: Mary May had never been one to play too coy with the people she was Interested in (go big or go home) and had never become Interested in anyone that she could not actually pursue. So she stuck to the odd fantasy and an occasional rub-out.  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Mary May whispered, spreading her legs and working her fingers leisurely between them. It was a little weird to consciously imagine someone she knew in bed with her, but the weirdness went away the more riled up she got. It wasn’t even that imagining Jerome doing anything especially scandalous got her engine running- just picturing him in bed with her for this was enough to add a little something special to an otherwise routine wank session.  
  
It was in the moments afterward, in the afterglow when she continued to picture Jerome beside her, that Mary May appreciated that this was more than strictly as sexual attraction. Jerome was an attractive man, no doubt- but independent of the purely sexual, she would not have objected to him as a romantic partner either. Jerome was a quality man: One who prioritized peace and quiet and understanding above all else, but who understood that sometimes one needed to get their hands dirty to get things done. She’d expect no less of a soldier.  
  
That being said, Mary May was starting to understand those people who were conflicted about dating their friends. She’d never seen a problem with it- she’d dated plenty of friends before, and it had never gone bad for her- but now she could see the potential complications. Jerome was a Pastor and a man who seemed, for all intent and purpose, uninterested in romance; it would be awkward if he knew of her interests. It would be weird for both of them and an unnecessary distraction.  
  
And soon, they had bigger problems.  
  
One night all hell broke loose.  
  
One night, the Peggies came rolling into Fall’s End and started rounding people and supplies up, shoving them into trucks. There were so many of them, _too_ many, and Mary May only had a shotgun behind the bar because _fuck_ if she thought she’d be facing down with at least thirty Peggies at once at ten o’clock at night on a goddamn _Thursday_. “Out the back!” Mary May hissed to Casey and the two remaining patrons, motioning for them to go out through the kitchen. It was so dark, and with the guns going off behind them it was easy to lose track of where she was once they got over the road and past the tree-line. It was all at once that Mary May realized she was alone, that Casey and the others had gone off in other directions without her noticing, and she couldn’t call out without the Peggies hearing her. She’d lived in Fall’s End her whole life and even after nights of carousing with friends and cow-tipping and other teenage shenanigans, everything looked alien in the dark.  
  
_WSSSSH._  
  
**_BOOM._**  
  
Mary May jumped; that sounded like an RPG. She turned back towards Fall’s End and saw a column of smoke rising above the buildings. What had been hit? Shit, she hoped it wasn’t the Spread Eagle, those fuckers took the Widowmaker and now they were taking her fucking _town_ -  
  
Someone grabbed her from behind, dragging her down and covering her mouth.  
  
Mary May struggled for a moment, thrashing against the hold, but whoever had her was stronh.  
  
“Shhh,” A voice whispered- a voice she recognized now as easily as her own. “It’s me.”  
  
Jerome took his hand away, and Mary May let out a wheezing breath. “ _Christ_ Jerome, you scared the hell out of me.” She stood up on shaking legs, then turned and threw her arms around him. “You alright?” She asked.  
  
“I’m fine,” Jerome said, returning the hug and patting her back. “We have to go. We have to get to Nick’s. He’s got guns there, and we can try to scavenge a few people to take back Fall’s End.”  
  
They started off through the dark towards Nick Rye’s. “Shit!” Mary May hissed as she stumbled again, momentarily afraid she had twisted her ankle.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“I’m okay.”  
  
“Here.” Jerome took Mary May’s hand, and she guided her through the dark with eerie precision.  
  
“Thanks.” A beat. “What the _fuck_ happened, Jerome? What the fuck is happening right now?”  
  
It was hard to see in the dark, but Mary May could work out Jerome’s eyes- and they were grave. “I heard a few of them talking. Apparently Sheriff Whitehorse and the Deputies tried to arrest Joseph. There was a Marshal too, I heard. I don’t think it ended too well for them.”  
  
“It’s not ending well for _us._ ”  
  
Jerome squeezed her hand and said nothing.  
  
Thankfully, Casey and a few others had had the same idea: Nick and Kim Rye were already hosting about twelve people in their living room, people who’d raced down the road in their cars and were talking about the roads out of Holland Valley being closed, about how the cult was shutting down the _entire_ valley that made up Hope County, from Holland Valley to the Whitetails to the Henbane.  
  
“We should wait until morning to go back to Fall’s End,” Jerome said to his tiny congregation. “There’s too many cultists there right now. These men and women have been trained by Jacob Seed, and they know they’re more likely to be attacked under the cover of night. The best idea is to rest up and get ready, and then attack tomorrow. If we’re lucky, there won’t be as many of them as there are now.”  
  
“I gotta stay here,” Nick said quietly to Jerome and Mary May, out of Kim’s earshot. “I can’t go running into this and leave Kim-” He stopped, a little choked up.  
  
“It’s fine,” Mary May responded quickly, patting his shoulder. “It’s fine. You get the chance to save Kim and your baby, you take it, okay?”  
  
“Just be careful,” Jerome warned him. “We don’t know what the cult has planned. If you plan on using your plane to escape…” He shook his head. “Just don’t rush out immediately, not until we have a chance to get a grip on what we’re dealing with here.”  
  
Nick nodded. “Sure.”  
  
He walked back into the kitchen, and Mary May sighed.  
  
“He’s gonna go immediately.”  
  
“I figured as much.”  
  
They set up a schedule for the night, with two people on watch on the front porch and another two out back, watching the approach from the airfield. Mary May’s shift wasn’t scheduled until a few hours before dawn, and so she took up a seat on the Rye’s couch next to Jerome. Others had taken chairs, and others had just picked a spot by the wall and set their heads down on the pillows and blankets Kim had handed out. Occasionally they jerked awake when a bang or a boom echoed from somewhere outside.  
  
“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to sleep,” Mary May muttered, covering her eyes. “How the hell do you sleep in a time like this?”  
  
“You don’t, at first,” Jerome said quietly. “It’s only after you get used to the sounds of bombs and guns going off and you’re too exhausted to be scared anymore that you can get any real sleep.” A pause. “Of course, my definition of ‘real sleep’ may not be aligned with a normal person’s.”  
  
Mary May frowned. “Not sure I’m interested in getting used to it.”  
  
Jerome laughed, and for the first time since she’d known him, he sounded bitter. “Neither was I. But I did- along with other things I’ll be discussing with the Lord the day I meet him. Then it’s going to be a long stretch in Purgatory to apologize for them. I’ll be lucky if I get out before the _actual_ end of days comes.”  
  
Wow, he was getting dark. Mary May was a little unsettled by it. “You think you’re not going to heaven?”  
  
“No, I _know_ I’m not going to heaven.” He sounded so desolately certain about it that she was inclined to believe that he was telling the truth; or at least, what he _believed_ to be the truth.  
  
“Jerome, come on,” Mary May intoned, “You can’t say things like that. If you aren’t getting into heaven, then what hope does my sinful ass have?”  
  
Jerome turned and looked at her. He still seemed morose, but there was something else in his gaze now; something that made something in Mary May’s chest flutter a little. “You’re a good woman, Mary,” he said quietly. “I don’t doubt the Lord would want you with him in heaven, when your time comes.”  
  
Mary May believed in God and all that, but she wasn’t super devout. That being said, she had the sense that Jerome was paying a serious compliment unto her character, and she was flattered. “Well, I appreciate your faith in me.”  
  
Jerome smiled, and it was warm. “I have an abundance of it.”  
  
Ah, fuck it.  
  
The world was going to hell and Mary May was willing to take a chance or two.  
  
She scooted down the couch and looped her arm through Jerome’s, leaning against him and setting her head against his shoulder. For a moment Jerome didn’t respond, and Mary May felt a brief charge of dread- but then his cheek bumped against head, and his hand squeezed hers. She sighed, shutting her eyes and trying to rest a little, enjoying what physical affection she knew she could and would realistically, reasonably get from Jerome.  
  
(Later, when things were calmer, Mary May would lie in bed, guiltily rub one out and let herself think of what could be.  
  
For now, she was grateful just for this.)  
  
-End


End file.
